


One more time before I leave

by Mifune



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Heavy Plot, Hurt/Comfort, Loosely based on Hotline Miami, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Temporary Amnesia, half-mexican mccree, r76 as a side pairing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2019-02-11 11:29:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12934320
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mifune/pseuds/Mifune
Summary: When he wakes up, he doesn't remember anything.Why he knows how to shoot a gun? Who gave him the alias of 'Deadeye'?But most importantly, who was 'Jesse McCree'?





	One more time before I leave

**Author's Note:**

> I said I wanted to end the year with a short mchanzo fic, but I am DUMB and wrote a really long fic instead. The fic is written in its entirety, although I still need to correct some things on the last scenes, so I should be uploading the final chapter the next week.  
> English is not my first language and some basic stuff still escapes me, so feel free to point out any mistake.

> No matter who you are, bearing too much weight... Inevitably leads to the collapse of everything.

It’s Christmas night.

The club is almost full. People are getting drunk on the dance floor, their silhouettes being deformed by the neon lights that adorn the place. The bar is filled with smoke and an unpleasant smell between piss and cheap perfume.

McCree can’t keep looking at the people around him. He gulps down his drink, the whisky burning his throat and making his muscles relax.

There are blood stains on his flannel, the ones he couldn’t remove in the small bathroom of the gas station. He hopes the red fabric of his serape will cover them, even though it’s highly improbable the drunkards around could see them underneath the bright blue lights of the club.  

With a grunt, McCree lifts his hand to ask the bartender for another drink. The omnic behind the counter flicks his lights in acknowledgment and disappears at the end of the counter. Nobody comes closer to ask him about his tired expression or why his hands are shaking so badly.

They just mind their own loneliness and continue dancing, intoxicated by the loud music.

He pulls out a cigarillo from the pocket of his flannel and lights it up, taking a long drag. McCree leans on the counter with his elbows and blows the smoke, gradually.

His phone vibrates inside of his pocket and McCree freezes. The omnic brings him his drink with a clang on the counter. McCree thanks him with a small nod and, hesitantly, after taking another long drag from his cigarillo, takes out his phone and looks at the bright screen.

_You have (1) message_

McCree slides his finger across the screen to unblock it and reads the message.

_24TTTTTREAPER: Report status, Deadeye._

McCree takes his drink and chugs it down instantly. The dizziness makes his head spin when he looks at the screen again to start typing.

_13OOOODEADEYE: theyre dead. all of them. i had company._

*

_5 hours earlier._

McCree parks nearby the building. He turns the lights off of the old van his _jefe_ gave him and waits.

There are two bodyguards on the entrance asking for invitations and opening the door to the guests. A variety of luxurious cars are parked on the street. A Mercedes, a Lamborghini, a Ferrari… Older, distinguished men are accompanied by beautiful women in tight dresses. The shadowy people behind them are probably either servants or personal bodyguards. They’re all heavy armed.

“They’re expectin’ company,” whispers McCree to himself. He grips the wheel just thinking about it. He can clearly hear his _jefe_ ’s voice: _get ready for the party, cowboy. It’s rodeo time._

Peacekeeper lays faithfully besides him. She doesn’t look like those sophisticated weapons from the yakuza, but she has her own charm. Six rounds, easy reload. Old but reliable. Has an impressive long range. McCree can probably take out any sniper from his position.

The number of guests reduces as the night goes on. The last ones to enter the party are two men all dressed in black with matching blue and green ties. The bodyguard looks up their names in the list and lets them enter with a nod.

And that’s the signal for McCree to start.

He takes Peacekeeper and ammunition from the back seats. Hastily, he gets out of his van and walks hidden in the darkness of the street close to the entrance of the building. With the back against the cold walls, he takes a mental note of where the bodyguard is. A quick glance is the only thing he needs: close to the doors, but not too close to him to take him out with a punch.

A shame.

McCree puts the silencer on Peacekeeper and takes aim.

“Bang,” McCree whispers as he shoots.

A bullet straight to the head. The bodyguard collapses in a silent explosion of blood, bones and brains. McCree continues with the back glued to the wall until he reaches the entrance. There, he searches for the card of entrance from the dead body of the bodyguard. He finally finds it on the right pocket of his tuxedo and quickly slides it through the slot of the door.

A beep lets him in. The door slides with a hiss and the luxurious interior of the building almost makes him puke. McCree lifts his gun as he calculates how far the elevator is. Fifteen meters. No other doors. A whole floor empty, except for the black carpet guiding him to the elevator. And no security cams.

“Huh,” says McCree. “You’d think these people would be a lil’ bit more paranoic.”

_“Where did you learn to shoot like that?”_

_“I… don’t remember. I think I’ve always known how to shoot a gun.”_

_“Very well,” the Reaper said a little bit too pleased, and his voice sent chills down Jesse’s spine. “You’re one of us.”_

McCree walks to the elevator, his hand trembling slightly. He presses the only button on the panel and waits with the back close to the wall again. After a few seconds, the elevator rings, announcing its doors are ready to open. With another hiss, the elevator opens and McCree immediately checks for any security cams. There is one, on the left side, and McCree quickly shoots it before boarding the elevator.

The doors close with another hiss and, surprising, on the panel there is just one button. Floor 50. Straight to the top.

The elevator is wide enough to let at least fifty people in easily, so McCree tucks in a corner, Peacekeeper in hand. A voice speaking Japanese suddenly fills the elevator, but McCree has no idea what it’s saying, although he can catch some words.

_Empire. Gold. Dead. King. Brothers. Shimada. Monsters._

The voice stops and classic Japanese music fills the elevator instead. The voice starts again after various minutes, thanking someone and then says something about a meal, but McCree’s limited knowledge leaves him out of most of the context.

The elevator rings again and stops. The doors open and the robotic voice of an omnic says: “May I take your coat?”

McCree practically jumps out of the elevator and knocks the omnic to the ground. The blue lights from its visor go off and it stays down. Definitely not an omnic build for combat. He looks around the small reception. Not a single bodyguard, not a single security camera. Not even the door to the party is guarded. McCree suddenly aches for a cigarillo because he knows what is waiting for him inside.

There is an army in the yakuza party.

Loud electronic music is played on the inside. McCree walks to the doors, scrambling his brain to get a plan.

_The target is a briefcase. Failure is not an option. We will be watching. Get ready for the party, cowboy. It’s rodeo time._

“Fuck!” grunts McCree. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

He can’t think on any plan that does not involve him getting injured. All of the guards are heavily armed and Peacekeeper can only take one or two at the same time. He’s at a clear disadvantage. McCree takes, however, a step closer to the door. Should he risk everything or go down with nothing.

Nonetheless, when he’s about to kick the door open, the music is cut off and the same voice from the elevator speaks. McCree, again, can’t understand much but he catches a few words.

_Reward. Gold. Brothers. Dead. Father. Punishment._

Someone wants someone dead. Is the party a celebration or a warning? Before McCree can try to put the words in context, a scream ripples the entire place.

And then gunshots can be heard.

McCree flinches but he doesn’t think it twice. He opens the door with a kick and immediately after doing so, the door beeps and shuts behind him. A crowd of terrorized people traps him against the door when they try to open it, in vain.

He hears even more gunshots as he fights to get rid of the crowd. He clears a path to the center of the party where a bunch of dead bodyguards lay in a pool of blood. He has his own gun in hand, expecting more gunshots, but the only thing he gets is more yelling in Japanese.

Two figures step forward. The men are dressed in black, one has a green tie and a katana in hand. The other, a blue tie and a bow. And both have a similar demon mask on their faces to hide their identity. Red and black, their fangs and horns make him take a step backwards. It’s been a while since he encountered such intimidating presences.

McCree can smell it. These men are dangerous.

And he is not stupid. They’re definitely the ones who took out all the bodyguards. The last guests to enter the party.

The guy with the green tie whispers to his partner and the buff man, the one with a blue tie, takes a step closer to him. He then takes out something from the inside of his jacket and tosses it to McCree.

“Here is your briefcase, Deadeye. Now get out,” he speaks with a deep voice and without any evident emotion in his words. His words ignite something inside of McCree both dangerous and attractive. McCree frowns in response.

“Who are you? This was supposed to be my party. How do you know who I am?” McCree asks, a dangerous edge on his voice, but the other man only huffs behind the mask.

“You ask too many questions and I have no obligation to answer them, cowboy,” again, the voice sends an odd feeling to his gut. McCree’s frown deepens. “Get out. And tell Reaper to stay out of our business.”

“You killed the bodyguards,” says McCree ignoring the implicit warning on the words of the other man. “Who are you?”

The man with the blue tie is not taller than him, but something about his body being so close to his, makes McCree take another step back.

“Do you know anything about Japanese folklore?” asks the man with the green tie, interrupting whatever his partner wanted to say.

“No,” replies McCree.

“The _oni_ are born from a truly wicked human being,” continues the man with the green tie, his voice much more youthful than his partner’s. “When they die, they become an _oni_ in hell. But in rare cases, the most wicked men can become an _oni_ while wearing the skin of a man to wander the earth. Those are the most dangerous.”

McCree takes from the pool of blood the small paper that the man with the blue tie tossed at him earlier. There are numbers written and a name.

Jack Morrison.

“We do not exist anymore,” says the man with the blue tie. “We became _oni_ and we have no longer a place among the people.”

McCree keeps the small piece of paper on the pocket of his flannel. He takes, then, a good look at the two men standing in front of him.

“We’re the same,” he says because he can’t really think of anything else.

That forces a chuckle out of the man with a blue tie, completely sarcastic. “Go, Deadeye. It would be unfair to involve you in our revenge.”

McCree is unable to decipher what the man with the oni mask is really thinking. But something feels _wrong_.

And even though his instincts are telling him to stay, he turns around, towards the door which beeps and opens just for him.

Before going into the small reception, he takes a final look of the two men. They speak in Japanese to the remaining guests, almost politely, but there is definitely a dangerous edge in their words, like a hidden knife under the table. The guests look terrorized at best, none of them daring to disobey whatever the two demons said to them. He steps outside, after a quick gaze at the man with the blue tie, and the door immediately closes behind him.

He can’t stay to watch the demons getting their revenge.

*

_“Hey, kiddo, what do you think you’re doing?”_

_Cigarette smoke flew directly to his face. The grin of the man just got bigger, showing his yellow teeth, decayed by his tobacco consumption. Rough fingers reached his face and caressed his wound, just slightly pressing where the skin bled._

_Jesse tried to take a good look of his face but the only thing he could see was the smile and the smoke._

_A man with no face._

_“Pick up your gun,” the man ordered and Jesse shivered. “Kill those bastards. The ones who are behind us? You see them?”_

_Jesse looked behind, only to find darkness. Absolute, pure darkness._

_“The police,” said the man and then chuckled. “Overwatch. You remember them? The ones who killed John and Victoria?”_

_McCree was unable to speak and could only watch how the darkness slowly engulfed his own reality. The man picked up a gun from the ground and brought it to McCree’s hands. It had dark splotches of dry blood._

_His fingers curled around the gun. The man looked at him with distant eyes and a grin._

_“Boy, what am I gonna tell your mama if she finds you dead?”_

McCree wakes up gasping and huffing for air. His lungs contract painfully and his throat hurts. It takes McCree a few minutes to calm himself down, breathing against his own impulses of just scream.

When he is calmer, he sits on the edge of his bed only to find that his entire body is covered in sweat. “Ugh,” he murmurs already feeling the cool air drying the sweat and making his skin sticky. He takes his shirt off and tosses it to the floor.

“A dream,” McCree tells himself, although he forgot long ago what dreams were supposed to be. Nightmares at this point of his life are the only ones who visit him at night. “I need a drink.”

His throat still hurts, but it doesn’t matter. McCree gets up and walks to the small kitchen of the apartment. The cool tides against the skin of his feet grant him a nice sense of reality. He quickly checks the time on the clock hanging from the wall.

3:33 am.

McCree reaches for the only cabinet in his tiny kitchen and takes out the cheap bottle of whisky he bought three days ago.

It’s a cycle. The nightmares come, McCree drinks. The anxiety and the unknown guilt come, McCree drinks. The past comes, McCree drinks.

He doesn’t even bother to take a cup for his whisky. He straight up drinks from the bottle, making his throat hurt even more with the first gulp.

“Smoking and drinking are bad for your health.”

McCree knows this voice. He has heard it many times before, but it still catches him off guard. He turns around, almost spilling his whisky to the floor, and looks at the tall figure before him.

A white mask, impassible and cold, looks at him. And McCree stares back. The figure in dark clothes comes closer without any noise and a claw reaches his wrist.

“Where is the _briefcase_?” the grim reaper asks him and McCree tries to step back, to get rid of his hold, but the black ghost won’t budge. “Where is it?”

“Fuck off,” snarls McCree. Reaper grunts but he still doesn’t let him go. “I ain’t havin’ a good night, so you better go.”

“Shut up, ingrate,” says Reaper still holding him by the wrist. “Give me the fucking _briefcase_.”

McCree glares at the white mask, as if that could do something. Neither of them back off.

“I had company, _jefe_ ,” replies McCree, every single one of his words getting a hint of resentment. “You sent me there to meet them, didn’t ya?”

Reaper doesn’t say anything but he does stop griping McCree’s wrist. His claw dissolves into black smoke and his entire body seems to waver in the air. After a few seconds, the black smoke solidifies behind him and now both claws are on his back.

“I see,” he says, in a low voice. “You met the two demon brothers. How was it? Were you scared?”

“The _briefcase_ is on my coffee table,” whispers McCree. The sharp claws go for his shoulders, griping the skin just enough to draw blood. McCree goes rigid underneath the claws, not daring to move. “Now get the fuck out.”

Reaper clicks his tongue repeatedly. “Now, that is no way to talk to me. Who do you think saved your life?”

“Not you, for sure,” McCree replies.

Reaper laughs, low and sarcastic. The claws now come for his throat and stay there against the skin. A warning. McCree grunts.

“Did the nightmares come back tonight too, cowboy?” whispers Reaper behind him, his voice muffled thanks to the mask. “Are you scared of knowing who you truly are?”

McCree’s muscles tense. And the Reaper chuckles, his voice getting darker with each syllable. “Because, I mean, once you recover your past, you’ll lose your future. You don’t know any other way to live because you were born in this world as a murderer.”

*

_Bring your warmest coat, it’ll be a cold night._

McCree walks down the street with his hands in his pockets. His face is partially hidden by his red serape, which he wraps around his neck. The red fabric looks like fire to the neon lights of the club.

There is no one outside so he just walks right in. A big man, possibly security staff, looks at him but McCree doesn’t stop. He pushes everyone on the entrance and makes his way through the crowd to the dirty counter.

Half-naked girls dance behind on the stage covered in bright lights. They dance to the rhythm of the music, their long limbs synchronized. The public beneath them only applaud and throw money to the stage, some of them watching in trance the way the girls move, others just drinking and smoking without really paying attention to the show. McCree only spares them a glance, more interested in the way they live in their own reality as long as the music continues.

He goes to the counter and sits far away from the ruckus. The omnic behind the counter seems to recognize him and beeps something that McCree understands as a ‘the usual?’ to which he nods.

The club smells unpleasantly like piss, sweat and cheap perfume. The dirty old seats of the bar look like they lived through better times. The whole club seems like the place one would go to get shitfaced for cheap or get a mediocre one night stand.

But McCree doesn’t mind. The alcohol is not good and the cigarettes are of an awful quality, but he doesn’t remember ever tasting something luxurious or caring if his liver and lungs would collapse before he turned forty.

The omnic brings him his whisky and the first sip makes McCree a lot calmer. Just to make sure, he takes out his phone and looks at the screen, sighing in relief when no new notifications pop up. He doesn’t have a job for the night, which is both a blessing and a burden.

McCree takes another sip of his whisky. At least he can get drunk in peace.

_“This is called tequila, kid,” said a deep male voice. The noise was soothing, the slight accent of a familiar language made him dizzy. “You call yourself a Latino and you don’t even know what this is?”_

_“I’m sorry, boss, but I ran away from home when I was twelve. You can call it a miracle that I know how to wipe my ass,” replied Jesse watching the shadowy man laugh. He couldn’t see the face, clouded by thick black smoke._

_“You’re right, kid. But at least you know how to speak Spanish. Did you grow up speaking it?” asked the man while pouring the tequila into two small glasses._

_“I…” tried to remember Jesse, but the memories were too old. His brain could remember sweet Spanish words whispered to him as a kid, probably from his mom. A song._ Me quitarán de quererte, llorona, pero de olvidarte nunca [1]. _“I forgot.”_

_“Huh,” that was the only thing the shadowy man said. He then gave McCree one of the small glasses and raised his own in a toast. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore. Have a drink, kid, before Jack arrives.”_

_And then the shadowy man smiled at him. Jesse looked at the man clouded in black smoke in awe._

_“Happy birthday.”_

McCree comes back to the reality when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He gasps and looks at the stranger like a deer in headlights, still feeling the panic the memory gave him.

The stranger is an older woman with white hair and an eye patch. She also has a strange tattoo under her good eye. McCree frowns.

“That is a nice serape,” the woman says and her voice sounds familiar but McCree tries to ignore the feeling of déjà vu. “The red suits you.”

“Who are you?” asks McCree, politely but with an unmistakable threat in his tone. The woman smiles, and despite the warning, she seats beside him.

“We have met before,” she replies, softly. Like a mother reassuring her child. McCree flinches and his first instinct is to back off. To run.

_Because you were born in this world as a murderer_. Reaper’s voice resounds in his head. McCree takes another sip of his whisky, because he definitely does not want to be sober for this talk.

But the woman waits for him. She stares at him and McCree catches something pitiful in her face. Sorrow. Guilt. “Do you know the Reaper?” he asks, finally.

“I do,” she answers, her expression getting darker. “I know him like I know you.”

McCree laughs, sarcastic. “I find it difficult to believe you. It’s funny, actually. That you know me while I don’t know myself.”

Something in her face changes with his words. She frowns slightly. Then she sighs. “Deadeye,” she says and McCree freezes. “That’s your name in this world, right? Did the Reaper give it to you?”

“I…” McCree stutters. He looks at her in panic, as if she could give him the answer to her own question. “I don’t know.”

The woman sighs again and a mixture between sorrow and guilt plagues her expression. In a bold movement, she poses her hand on McCree’s shoulder again.

“What do you want?” she whispers. “Do you want to recover your past? Do you want to know who you are? Or do you want to forget everything and live as Deadeye? That’s fine. If you want to forget it all and start again, that’s fine. But remember that sooner or later, the past will return. If you don’t recover it now, it will drown you in the future.”

McCree laughs again, bitter. His own laughter sounds fake to his ears and he feels disgusted by it. “The Reaper said I’d lose my future if I recovered my past.”

The woman clicks her tongue in disagreement. “Your future only belongs to you. And your name. And your past. Reaper doesn’t care about you anymore.”

“Anymore?” McCree repeats and that catches the woman off guard. But she regains her composure quickly, only to slide a small piece of paper with a number written in a messy handwriting to McCree’s hand.

“My name is Shrike. Come to me when you have decided what to do,” she says. McCree nods like an idiot and keeps the paper in the back pocket of his jeans.

Before he can stand up, the woman yanks a part of his serape to get his attention. She smiles at him again, softly. _Like a mother_. “And, honestly,” she gets closer to him and murmurs. He almost doesn’t catch it due to the loud music and the alcohol buzzing in his head. “ _Jesse McCree_ would have chosen a cooler name than Deadeye.”

*

There are three things he is certain about.

One: his surname is McCree. No name and no middle name. Just McCree.

Two: he doesn’t remember anything about himself. His past, his name, his age. He knows he woke up in an abandoned house and then soon after, Reaper called him to assign him a new mission.

Three: he knows how to shoot a gun. He’s a murderer.

McCree knows this. The weight of Peacekeeper on his hand and the way his body moves. He vaguely remembers the warmth of the blood on his fingers, the sound of bones crushing underneath his palms, the smell of smoke and gunpowder. He has killed before.

_I got you a date, cowboy. Meet them at the Emporio building on the seventh street. Easy. Go in and go out. Do your thing. That nice trick of killing six people with one shot. Failure is not an option. Have fun and wear your best clothes._

The alarm blares throughout the entire building. He can hear shouts on the other room and he reloads Peacekeeper while maintaining his back against the wall.

“Find him!” someone yells, his voice muffled due to the distance. “Find him! Dead or alive!”

McCree takes a breath of air. He steps on the pool of blood forming beneath his feet to open the door and his body knows what to do. Because Deadeye and Jesse McCree have done the same thing several times before.

He kicks the door open, making the wood creak. The door cracks and it falls down. The surprised men in suits react too slowly. McCree takes aim and every single one goes down not one minute later. The white walls of the room go red.

McCree kicks open another door. He reloads Peacekeeper easily. The next room is clear, so he continues to the third floor.

“Attention! We have an intruder! He must be detained at all costs, dead or alive!” a voice shouts through the announcement system. “We will reward the person who brings him to us.”

“Good luck, then,” McCree murmurs to himself. On the third floor, he turns left and checks every room. Clear. He goes back, turns right and does the same. Every room is clear except for the last one.

He runs straight into fifteen men in suits. They were waiting for him.

“Caught ya!” says one, and everyone lifts their guns to aim at McCree’s head.

But Jesse McCree knows better.

Deadeye knows death, he has seen it before, and he is not afraid to die. However, Jesse McCree is an old friend of death. He greets her and is not afraid to stare back when the death smiles at him.

McCree gives one step further. He will go down fighting and they better catch his dead body on a sea of blood.

Peacekeeper aims at everyone too. “Step right…”

Before McCree can finish the sentence, a burst of light drowns the room.

_“How old are you?” the shadowy man asked him and he wanted to trash the entire room. He was being treated like a little child._

_“Fuck you,” he replied instead, spitting blood from the cut inside of his mouth._

_But the shadowy man only sighed. The black smoke covering his face wavered and he could see dark skin behind. Nothing more._

_“You shot six of my men,” the shadowy man said. “These are elite soldiers. I handpicked them. And you shot them in non-fatally places. You knew where to shoot and not kill, huh?”_

_Jesse felt how his muscles complained when he shrugged. The shadowy man seemed amused._

_“Let’s make a deal, shall we? You like deals,_ niño _?” the man finally suggested, dragging a chair to sit in front of him, earning a snarl from Jesse. “How about we do this: you join me and polish your skills, yeah? You help me catch bad guys until one of us dies. And if you don’t like it, then you can rot away in a high-security prison for the rest of your life. What do you think?”_

_“You’re not givin’ me much of an option,” Jesse grunted. His handcuffed hands were starting to hurt._

_“You don’t have to run away anymore,” the man said and his words felt like a stab in Jesse’s chest. “I don’t promise you much, but at least you’ll have warm meals and a decent bed.”_

_“Why?” asked Jesse, looking down, cowardly refusing to watch more of the black smoke covering the man’s face. “I ain’t a good person. I ain’t different from other gang members.”_

_“You didn’t want to kill anyone. If you had that intention from the beginning, all of my soldiers would’ve been dead. You only shoot to survive.”_

*

He can feel it everywhere. Where the light touches, where the light disappears, where the light envelopes him entirely. It doesn’t hurt but it isn’t pleasantly either. The light rumbles to his ears, and it almost sounds like a growl. Like a wild beast.

He hears foreign words, but they are so distant. The light slowly fades and the entire room goes back to normal. McCree’s legs fail and he collapses to the ground, leaving Peacekeeper discarded on the floor.

The foreign words come closer and he is able to identify the language. Japanese. Two muffled voices enter the room, but McCree is too exhausted all of sudden and doesn’t have the energy to pick Peacekeeper up.

Two pair of feet stand behind him. Someone crouches and pats his back, softly. McCree groans in response.

“He’s alive,” a familiar youthful voice says. “See? I told you.”

A deeper voice replies something in Japanese and the youthful one chuckles. “You are no fun, aniki. Hey, can you move?”

Fortunately, his arms do respond to him and he uses them as a support to turn around, still not trusting his ability to walk. McCree flops to his back, grunting when his head touches the cold tides of the floor. “Aw, fuck goddamn, shit.”

“Can you walk?” asks the deeper voice, a bit more far away than the crouching figure. McCree blinks repeatedly, trying to clear his sight.

He knows these people. The two of them are wearing the oni masks, but this time they are not dressed in suits. Their attire seems more traditional: dark kimonos. McCree tries to sit up and gets dizzy immediately, groaning again. “What are y’all doin’ here?” he asks.

“You’ve been set up,” the youthful voice says. “We came to help you.”

“Set up? What?”

“You were not supposed to be here. Not alone, at least,” replies the deeper voice. “Can you walk? We have to go. Now.”

McCree groans and tries to lift his head to have a clearer image of the man with the deep voice. The only thing he can see is that his kimono is half open on one side, revealing an intricate tattoo that extends over a muscular arm. He can see clouds and thunder and a coiling dragon, which glows faintly blue.

Light. Rumble. Dragons, not wild beasts.

“I can’t,” says McCree, still looking in awe at the pale light the tattoo emits. The man catches his stare and gets closer. “I’m… What was that?”

The mask is cold, but in a different kind of cold than the one Reaper wears. It’s cold because it shows sorrow and pain, not indifference. The hard eyes of the oni seem to look into his very soul, crisping the blood in his veins.

“We have no time,” murmurs the man. “And you would not believe me.”

“Try me,” he retorts, not sparing a second to speak. _I’ve seen crazier things_ , McCree thinks but the words do not reach his mouth.

“Not now,” the man says and directs his words to his partner. “Can you carry him? I will open a path.”

The youthful man nods and lifts McCree almost effortlessly, taking Peacekeeper with him in the process. McCree wants to say something, to protest or to refuse, but from his mouth comes out nothing. The man lifts his right arm and then leans to support McCree’s entire weight on his back. The man stands up straight and makes sure McCree is properly secured.

And then he jokes: “I can carry you bridal style if you want.”

_“Here, play these chords,” Jesse instructed his friend. The guitar looked out of place on the cyborg’s hands._

_The cyborg did what he was told. Badly. Jesse was laughing the entire time and the green lights of the cyborg only flickered in response. His friend eventually gave up around the G chord._

_“You better save your cool guy image, because after this no one will believe you,” joked Jesse and the cyborg grunted._

_“Are you seriously making me play ‘save a horse’?” he protested. “I have never in my entire life heard these songs.”_

_“Hey! They’re classics,” Jesse said. “You want to learn or not?”_

_The cyborg only grunted again and placed the guitar on his lap._

_“Please teach me,_ sensei _.”_

The man with the deeper voice stops and lifts his bow. A silent arrow pierces the throat of a man, off guard. The alarm still blares but the men in suits are disorganized in the midst of the chaos. The man takes out another arrow and fires it straight to the wall. A single red silhouette appears on the wall, moving through the other side of the room.

The two demons communicate in Japanese, leaving McCree out of their conversation. The youthful one says something to which his partner nods. The buff man opens the door and fires another arrow which fragments once it hits the hall. The hard sound of something hitting the floor prompts them to enter the room.

The faint glow of the tattoo has disappeared, but now McCree can look at it closely. Clouds and thunder and an angry dragon coiling protectively around the skin, it looks like such an intricate work that must have cost a lot of money and pain.

“That’s a nice tattoo,” slurs McCree and the man carrying him snorts.

The other man just huffs. “They knocked him out pretty good,” says the youthful one, almost cheerily.

“Better than being dead.”

They hurriedly walk through the room, constantly checking if there isn’t anyone else on the same floor. Multiple arrows fly to the walk and stick there, like a radar. McCree knows that he won’t be awake for more much time.

His eyelids are heavy with sleep and exhaustion, and the continuous flow of Japanese words make him even sleepier. Relaxed. He takes a good look at the tattooed arm and the oni mask before passing out.

McCree can’t help but feel a little curious about the man’s face. Is he as attractive as his voice? Does his face get a dangerous air much like his body? Does he bear a name as beautiful as the tattoo on his arm?

*

McCree knows this song. He knows the lyrics, the meaning and the rhythm. He knows it because it belonged to Jesse McCree and Deadeye can’t help but assimilate the memory.

He knows it because someone Jesse McCree loved shared it with him.

“ _Never love me seriously_ ,” the voice sings, but it’s not the same from his buried memories. It’s deeper and lower and it lights something within McCree. “ _Love is just a game, if I’m having fun, that’s enough... [2]_ ”

He realizes the words are in Japanese. The man stops once McCree starts moving again. He stirs in his bed a little too much but, fortunately, a strong arm prevents him from falling to the floor.

He can see it now. The strong jaw, the high cheek bones, the eyes that carry melancholy and sadness. Calloused hands support his head. A straight nose, thin lips, a perfectly trimmed beard. A barbell piercing high on the bridge of his nose, black hair, side cuts, ending in a bun. McCree wants to touch him but is afraid he will disappear as soon as his hand reaches the man.

“Howdy,” says McCree because that’s the only thing he can say without sputtering and immediately feels like an idiot.

“Do not move around, the effect of the dragons may be still lingering,” the man whispers and helps McCree to go back to bed.

“Dragons?” he says and the man smirks.

“You said it was a ‘cool tattoo’,” the man reminds him and McCree feels a stab of embarrassment. “Those things you saw in the room were the dragons. I am amazed you were almost unscathed from their rage, just as Genji said.”

“Genji?” the man with the tattoo blinks, looking suddenly confused by McCree’s question, but he finally regains his usual stern expression.

“My brother,” he informs McCree and it doesn’t take too long to fit the pieces in. Genji is the other man, the one who carried him, the one wearing the green tie. “He has gone out for food so he should be back soon.”

McCree exchanges looks with the man above him. “Your brother’s name is Genji,” he begins and the man looks at him, expectantly. “But you haven’t told me _your_ name.”

The man backs off. He returns to the chair he was sitting before McCree woke up, where he sang the familiar song. He stops looking at McCree, his eyes wandering the room. “That is not important.”

“Darlin’,” McCree surprises himself with his own tone, soft and tender, and the pet name, something about his southern brawl feeling like a weapon. “I want to know.”

The man looks reluctant. “Please,” McCree pleads, once, in a whisper. “You saved my life.”

McCree expects him to just walk away, to leave him alone with his drifting memories, but the man huffs and his stare turns incredibly sad.

“Hanzo,” he says. “My name is Hanzo.”

“Hanzo,” McCree repeats, the word rolling so nicely in his tongue. Hanzo stays very still on his chair, refusing to look at him. “I don’t know you, Hanzo.”

That definitely does get his attention.

“Wh--?”

“I mean,” begins McCree. “I feel like I know your brother. I’ve met him before, somewhere, but I can’t remember. I’ve met the Reaper before too. And Shrike. But you? I have nothin’. And I’m pretty sure Jesse McCree would have remembered someone like you.”

“Jesse McCree,” Hanzo repeats, a hint of sadness in his tone, and a foreign feel drops in McCree’s stomach. Something like the anxiety and yearning of hearing that name again on Hanzo’s voice. “Is that your name?”

“Probably. That’s what Shrike called me,” McCree replies, swallowing that unknown feeling and ignoring it.

“Humm,” simply replies Hanzo. “Well, now you know my name and I know yours.”

“Fair,” McCree huffs.

Silence follows McCree’s words. Hanzo doesn’t return to him, instead leaning on the chair and humming the same song from earlier. He does not sing it, but the rhythm is pretty clear, and McCree knows the lyrics.

_When I fall asleep on an expressway late at night, only halogen lights shine mysteriously…_

“The song,” interrupts McCree and Hanzo turns his head to look at him. “I know the song.”

Hanzo looks embarrassed all of sudden. He doesn’t blush, but his eyes give him away. He opens his mouth to say something and is quickly shut by Genji’s laughter.

Genji is not wearing his mask either. However, behind the mask there is a scarred face with brown eyes lighted up in pure glee. His dyed hair is fading into a pale green and the black roots are an inch long. His body is shielded almost entirely by the black kimono, but his hands, neck and ankles are covered in what it looks like an armor, the same material his left arm is made of. A high-tech prosthesis.

His face is even more youthful than his voice, but the resemblance is undeniable. They both have the same eyebrows and the same thin lips. Hanzo wears his factions elegantly, like a dignified king. And Genji wears his like a weapon, a charismatic way to get allies and friends.

“I love that song, Hanzo!” Genji laughs and Hanzo only scowls, caught _in fraganti_. “That’s my favorite song!”

“You know it?” asks McCree and he almost doesn’t catch the pitiful look that crosses Genji’s eyes.

“Yeah, they played it all the time in the arcade I used to go in my youth. It’s old and Hanzo hates it because it’s so catchy that he can’t stop singing it,” Genji replies, leaving two plastic bags on the table close to Hanzo. “ _That I’m a woman as cold as ice…_ ”

Hanzo, meanwhile, opens the bags and groans loudly. He says something to his brother in Japanese, interrupting him and Genji replies while frowning: “What is wrong with Chinese food?”

“We had it yesterday, and the day before, and pretty much every day of this week,” Hanzo sighs, annoyance written all over his face.

“Yeah, I just thought our guest here would like it,” Genji winks in his direction and McCree smiles weakly. He knows there is great understanding between the two, he feels the affection and the bond Jesse McCree probably shared with Genji, but he himself can’t help feeling like a stranger wearing the memories and body of someone else.

Hanzo groans but complies. He hands McCree a plastic container with dumplings and Ma Po Tofu. Genji gives him a cold beer and the two brothers sit on the floor, leaving McCree to eat on the bed.

“Okay, here’s the plan,” says Genji, pointing at him with his chopsticks. “We bring you to Shrike and Pharah so you can recover your memories and help us stop the Reaper.”

McCree raises both eyebrows, surprised. “Stop the Reaper? What does that have to do with me?”

Hanzo sighs and jabs his brother in the ribs, making him laugh sheepishly. “Ah, I forgot you were working for him literally just five hours ago,” Genji says. “He called you to assign you to a mission, right? Did he give you any details?”

McCree shakes his head.

“No, he only gave me the address and, sometimes, things he wanted me to retrieve from the mission. Last time was the ‘briefcase’ you guys gave me. But usually is a computer or some trackin’ device,” McCree answers while eating a dumpling. Genji was right, he is really liking the food.

Genji stays silence for a few seconds. “I see. What do you think, Hanzo?”

The archer scoffs and puts his meal aside. He crosses his arms, lifting the sleeve of his kimono a little bit and giving McCree a nice peek of his tattoo.

“He was using McCree to search for 76,” Hanzo calmly replies. “Reaper raided the Helix Industries while McCree searched in the city. It makes sense.”

“Hummm,” Genji takes a sip of his beer. “Do you think Widowmaker and Doomfist are with him too?”

“Most likely. But now that he has lost McCree, he is going to get mad. We should communicate it to Shrike as soon as possible.”

Genji leaves his food container next to Hanzo. His expression turns serious and McCree shivers in anticipation. His instincts tell him that whatever is coming, is not good.

“We need your help, McCree,” Genji looks at him and McCree is suddenly filled with the urge to run. “I know Shrike told you it was fine to remain as you are, to keep being Deadeye and give up on your past. But we need you. Without your memories, this world won’t be kind to you.”

“I was born a murderer in this world,” McCree replies, bitterness in his voice. Genji flinches and sorrow fills his eyes. “It will never be kind to me.”

Genji opens his mouth to speak, but Hanzo stops him. He lifts his hand to hold back his brother and stares at McCree, unfazed.

“You are wrong,”Hanzo says. And the only thing McCree’s brain can think is how beautiful this man is, in his regal air and stern words hiding a deep sorrow that not even himself is able to touch. “This world is not kind, regardless of who you are, but it gives you the right to choose. You can redeem yourself or live with what you think you deserve.”

He has heard those words before, in a different voice, spoken by a different person. However, right now, Hanzo is giving him an option McCree thought he couldn’t have.

_“You know, kid? I’m gonna propose to him,” the shadowy man spoke and Jesse smiled. “We are going to get the fuck away from all this bullshit. I’m tired. I’m tired of losing friends and comrades and watching people die, because, you know? I’ve seen the evil in people and I can only protect much. My hands are full. More of this and I’ll break.”_

*

The starless sky does not bring back any memories. It’s missing out something. Maybe the warm air and the fire, the clear sky and the dust. The mosquitoes and the howls. Feelings that will never come back, irreplaceable.

His serape is warm and it extends underneath him like a second skin. The red of the fabric against the cold, grey concrete makes him look out of place.

He takes a cigarette out of the pocket of his flannel shirt and lights it up. Jesse McCree is a loved man. He can see it in Genji’s eyes, hear it in Shrike’s voice. They want their friend back, the memories that made Jesse McCree a human being.

Who is he to deny this man the love he earned?

“I thought I would found you here,” Hanzo’s voice surprises him. The metal door of the roof closes and light footsteps come closer to him. “Do you have another cigarette?”

McCree grunts in response. He takes out another cigarette and gives it to Hanzo, together with his lighter. Hanzo takes a seat beside him, without asking permission to invade his moment, lighting up his cigarette and taking a long drag.

“Was the world kind to you?” asks McCree in a whisper, without thinking his words too much. He expects Hanzo to laugh at him, but the other man does not.

“No, it was not kind,” Hanzo is not looking at him, but at the sky. The distant lights from the city shine faintly on his face and McCree’s heart feels heavy on his chest. “I did unspeakable things, not because I did not have another option, but because I chose so.”

“What did you do?” McCree dares to ask, contemplating the smoke coming from Hanzo’s mouth. He can’t see his expression but he guesses Hanzo’s wearing the same sorrow for when he talks about himself.

“Mistakes, and I regretted too late,” Hanzo replies. “I was blind and stupid, and only my brother could show me the right path. I still bear with my guilt and the fate of my actions to this day. They are my burden.”

“I guess it’s never too easy, huh,” McCree takes a drag from his own cigarette, directing his stare from the man to his right, to the starless sky.

“No,” is the only things that Hanzo says. “It is never easy.”

McCree blows the smoke to the sky, a gush of cold air instantly returning the smoke to his face. Hanzo, at his side, doesn’t speak, his presence silent as a ghost, comforting and soothing.

“Do you know how your brother met Jesse McCree?” McCree asks, daring to cease the silence and Hanzo snorts.

“That is not my story to tell. If you want to know, you should ask him,” Hanzo passes him a hip flask and McCree thanks him mentally. He really needs a drink. While he opens the slender flask, Hanzo continues to talk. “How are you feeling? Are you better now?”

“Yeah,” answers McCree. The weakness of his legs has gone and he feels better after eating and sleeping for a few hours. He takes a sip from the flask and recognizes it to be sake. Of course. “That Chinese food did wonders.”

Hanzo hums in acknowledgement. The alcohol is not bad, McCree too accustomed to drink shitty whisky to distinguish the deep flavors on the sake. He passes the flask back to Hanzo and the man drinks silently as well.

“We should be heading back,” Hanzo says, still not looking at him, his face barely visibly thanks to the city lights, shining at the distance. McCree’s heart does something funny inside of his chest when he catches the distinct glint of a tongue piercing when Hanzo speaks again. “The night is getting colder.”

McCree nods, unable to speak. He watches as Hanzo stands up and his big silhouette frames the starless sky, and the long hair of the man splashes his own back with strands of black hair. Hanzo turns around only to look at McCree, leaving him almost without air.

And, somehow, McCree feels like everything is going to be okay.

*

That night the past does not come. Instead, he dreams of dragons.

He hears soft growls but he cannot see them. He can feel them underneath his palms, the smooth scales running under his fingers.

Someone whispers in Japanese, but they are far away and McCree can’t reach them. They comfort him even though he can’t understand them.

And then, his dream fades to black.

_“Get your head down and keep moving!” Jesse’s ears rang and gunshots could be hear at the distance. Two blurry figures were in front of him. One of them, reached for where the bullet hit him, pressing so they could stop the blood. “McCree’s down! McCree’s down!”_

*

Genji’s soft snores are interrupted by loud bangs. The small room they are staying at resounds and McCree wakes up immediately for what he supposes are years of training and fear. The two brothers wake up from their peaceful slumber on their futons laying on the floor almost at the same time as him.

“Reaper found us,” says Genji, taking his blade from the small table. “We need those sonic arrows right now, Hanzo!”

The oldest brother takes his bow and shoots an arrow to the wall. Blue waves reveal red silhouettes approaching them. Five, ten, twenty. “We are surrounded,” announces Hanzo. McCree puts his boots on and takes Peacekeeper when Genji hands her to him.

He only has three rounds and no spare ammunition left. They must have fallen when Hanzo released the dragons. “I only have three bullets,” informs McCree.

“Hanzo, how many arrows?” Genji asks, taking his second blade.

“Twenty. Only Five scatter and four sonic,” Hanzo replies. “We might be able to escape if you take the lead.”

“We don’t have time, they outnumber us,” the silouhettes behind the walls are getting closer. Genji fidgets with the shuriken on his hand. “Can you summon the dragons once more? That way we can take the east exit.”

Hanzo grunts. “In such a short period of time… You know how risky it is. I can take people down on the corridors with my scatter arrows, but if the Reaper really is here…”

“Yeah, we’re no match for him in such a confined space,” Genji’s voice is calm but there is a dangerous edge in his words. “McCree doesn’t have bullets and I can’t use dragonblade. And we don’t have back up.”

More bangs can be heard at the distance, hurrying them to get out. The three of them are at the door and things are looking grim. McCree clutches Peacekeeper in his hands because he could probably stop Reaper and his deadly shotguns, if only he had more ammunition and his flashbangs with him.

Genji opens the door slowly, cautious in his own movements. “They’re on the other side of the building. Let’s go.”

Genji steps outside first, next to him follows McCree and Hanzo. Since he is the one with the lowest ammunition, McCree stays between the two brothers, Genji taking care of the front and Hanzo protecting the rear.

They move fast. Genji draws his katana and Hanzo shoots another sonic arrow. The red silhouettes are getting closer.

“We are not going to make it,” says Hanzo shooting another arrow to the next wall. The three of them stop on their tracks. On the next corridor are twelve people, coming directly for them. McCree can hear how Genji holds his breath and he himself clutches Peacekeeper between his fingers. In the worst case, he can take some people down with just his body, in a display of raw stranght.

“I see you, ingrate,” black smoke materializes next to McCree so fast that he can’t even react. Hanzo yells something in Japanese, but Genji turns around too late.

A strong hit sends McCree flying against the wall. His back collisions painfully on the concrete and McCree gasps, searching for air. Reaper stands above him, twin shotguns aiming at his head. “Hello there, cowboy.”

His eyes search desperately for the brothers, but he can only see Genji slashing his way through a horde of men in combat gear. “My eyes are up here, boy,” Reaper says and McCree looks up, only to find the cold mask that stare at him indifferently.

McCree tries to get up, getting as reward a sharp pain on one of his sides. Broken ribs, probably. He gasps for air again and Reaper’s shotgun touches his forehead.

“You have two options: you can come with me and I let your friends live, or I can just kill you here together with them. You choose, Deadeye,” Reaper says and his voice, paired with the black smoke, makes McCree take a sharp intake of breath.

Jesse McCree knows the feeling of having those heavy shotguns pointed against his head. And he isn’t afraid.

Why would he be? When those guns are from someone he cares.

The one who gave him a choice.

Like pieces of a puzzle, everything suddenly fits. The black smoke that clouded the memories of a very specific man disappear in a puff. And he can see it. Thick, curly hair. Dark skin. A scarred face and a scary man. Tall, dark and strong.

And McCree can remember how gentle his hands were sometimes.

“Reyes,” McCree whispers and something inside of the Reaper shakes. Beneath the mask, something stirs and the man takes two steps back, lowering his guns. “I remember you.”

The masked man retrocedes even more. His body starts to collapse into smoke. “No. You’re wrong.”

“Gabe,” says McCree, the name of the man coming out from the deepest part of his buried memories, more like a haunted word, full of its own curse. When he says it, his voice becomes unbearably sad and the question that proceeds is sincere: “What happened to you?”

That evokes a shriek from the man and he turns him completely into smoke, vanishing in the air. McCree huffs painfully and searches for the brothers again, unable to get up. Genji is a flash of green in the corridor, finishing off the remnants of the group. Hanzo is running to him from the other side and soon crouches in front of him with concerned eyes.

“Are you hurt?” asks the archer and McCree laughs weakly.

“I’m sure I’ve had it worse,” he answers and Hanzo’s eyes travel to where he’s clutching his broken ribs. 

“Can you move?” Hanzo reaches for where the injury is, slightly touching McCree’s hand in the process. He hopes the expertise fingers of Hanzo linger a bit more, but the archer quickly retries his hand when he’s done evaluating how bad the fracture is.

“I might be able to walk, but not get up without help,” answers McCree. Hanzo nods and passes his arm around his shoulders so McCree can use him as a big cane.

He grunts in the process, the sharp pain making it difficult to move around too much. However, when he feels the silky black hair tickling his cheek, he thinks it might not be that awful to be in that position.

“I… remembered,” says McCree in a gasp of air and Hanzo tenses under him. “I remembered who Reaper is. He’s Gabriel, isn’t he? Why… How… How did he turn into… that thing? I don’t understand.”

Hanzo stops. “You will have to wait for Shrike. I cannot give you the answers you search, not now.”

Hanzo takes smalls steps towards where his brother is and McCree sighs. He knows who Reaper is, but he doesn’t remember much of who Gabriel Reyes is. McCree knows his true identity and the face of the man behind the mask, but beyond that? Nothing. McCree has nothing.

“My apologies for not reacting fast enough,” Hanzo murmurs, snapping him out of his thoughts. “It seems like you are getting injured due to my lack of judgment.”

“Aw, no worries, darlin’,” says McCree. “It’s not your fault.”

Hanzo does not reply to that and continues walking to where Genji is. The other brother wipes the blood from his katana with a quick swing and regroups with them as soon as they reach the end of the corridor.

“I think there are still more on the lower floors, but since Reaper is not here and we’ve cleared this part, we can take the emergency exit and stay the night at Mei’s place. We can go after the sunset to Shrike, because it’s still too risky to run around with our looks at broad daylight,” Genji proposes and the other two nod. He smiles. “Good, let’s go. We can call Mercy so she can attend your broken ribs, McCree.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” he says.

Strong arms holds his weight and McCree’s heart stirs.

_Never love me seriously, love is just a game…_

*

Mei is a petite Chinese girl with an expectedly cute voice. Genji knocks the door of her apartment twice and waits for about fifteen seconds before shouting something in Chinese. From the other side of the door a laughter resounds and the door opens.

“Genji!” Mei says, amicably, and hugs the man in front of her. She fixes her glasses and ties her bed hair back, still in her pajamas. “What’s up, guys? It’s like five in the morning, did something happen?”

She opens the door completely and understands what is happening as soon as she looks at Hanzo and McCree. The perceptive glance of Mei says it all and, without a single word, lets them in.

Hanzo and McCree stagger together as they make their way to the couch on the small living room. Hanzo leaves McCree on the couch as gently as he can. McCree groans, more exasperated than in pain.

Mei returns to them with pain killers and water and offers them to McCree without asking a single question. He gives her a grateful look before swallowing the pain killers and rest on his good side.

“I don’t think that’s going to be enough to heal those broken ribs,” says Mei and looks at Hanzo. “Should I call Mercy?”

“Yes, please,” replies Hanzo in a low tone and Mei nods while taking her phone out.

“Isn’t Mercy living with Pharah now?” asks Genji, resting on one of the chairs he probably dragged from the kitchen.

“Yes. Should I call them both?” Mei stops the typing in her phone to look at Genji. He nods and Mei resumes her typing. “I just hope she didn’t have an early shift on the hospital.”

Mei lifts her phone to her ear and waits for about ten seconds before someone answers on the other side of the line. “Hey, it’s me, Mei. How are you? I’m fine too. Uh, I am calling you because we…” Mei looks at McCree. “Genji and Hanzo found McCree. He’s injured… No, nothing serious, but he is in pain. And, uh… Could you bring Pharah too? We could use more people. Yes, yes, thank you. I’ll be waiting for you both. Thank you,” Mei hangs up and keeps her phone on the pocket of her pajama. “They said they’ll be here in less than thirty minutes. Mercy is bringing her Caduceus staff.”

“Good,” replies Hanzo, taking a seat on the armrest of the couch where McCree is resting. A simple glance is what it takes for McCree to notice the eye bags and the exhaustion written all over his face, and his heart wrenches because he have been worrying Hanzo this entire time.

_Why is Hanzo worrying about someone he doesn’t know?_

_“I’m gonna propose,” a voice said and all what his eyes saw were the different hues of the sunset at the distance, blinding him. “And then elope in a faraway country, where no one knows us.”_

“Do you want something to drink in the meanwhile?” offers Mei with a smile. “I have tea, coffee, chocolate…”

“Green tea, please,” says Hanzo.

“Coffee for me,” Genji replies and Mei nods, disappearing into the kitchen.

McCree lays his head on a pillow waiting for the pain killers to kick in. His hair feels disgusting due to the sweat and grime from past days. His beard is unmanageable at this point and his hair needs a haircut, but he can’t bring himself to care enough.

He sees how Genji takes out his own phone and types something. At his side is Hanzo, who quickly gets up as soon as he feels McCree’s stare on him, and leaves for the small balcony, turning his back to McCree.

_“Stay,” the voice said and an impressive, terrifying warmth filled his chest. “Stay until the sunrise.”_

_“Ten more minutes and then I will have to go,” another voice replied, full of tenderness._

_“Stay. Stay with me.”_

Mei comes out of the kitchen with the brother’s drinks. Genji takes his coffee with a smile and Mei gets out to deliver the tea to Hanzo. From the other side of the glass, McCree can see how Hanzo nods and takes the drink, but still doesn’t turn around.

“You guys want to watch… something?” Mei offers, sending a concerned look to McCree.

“I’m fine,” says Genji. “I’m texting my master to see if he can help us.”

“I see,” says Mei. “How about you, McCree? I… huh, you can turn on the TV if you want. I don’t think there are a lot of interesting shows right now, but feel free to browse.”

“Thank you kindly,” says McCree, smiling weakly at the woman. “But I think the pain killers are finally kickin’ in, so I might take a nap.”

“Good, good… Then I’ll be in my room changing my pajamas, shout if you need anything,” says Mei with a smile and walks in silence to her room.

The pain killers do kick in, but the adrenaline from his encounter with the Reaper still lingers in his senses, so all he can do is to continue laying down and watching Hanzo’s back. The other man barely moves, despite the cold air of the early morning. McCree frowns, an awful feeling crawling down his throat.

_“Stay with me,” pleaded the voice again, a hint of despair in his words._

Hanzo’s back slowly rises and fall. Breathing. He can see the white puffs of breath coming out of Hanzo’s nose. It’s so cold outside but he won’t come in. McCree can’t help but wonder if Hanzo is avoiding him.

Or if he’s just getting tired of McCree being unable to get away from danger.

“He’s okay,” says Genji and McCree flinches, not expecting Genji to feel his anxiety. “He just needs… time.”

“Time?” McCree asks immediately.

Genji visibly winces. “He has had it rough. But he’s fine, don’t worry.”

McCree doesn’t say anything. He watches Hanzo’s back once more and closes his eyes, hoping to feel at least a bit sleepy. He needs to breathe carefully or his ribs will hurt, so he tries to calm down and drown his anxiety.

On the other side, sitting on the chair, is Genji, humming to himself another song, one he doesn’t recognize. Fortunately, drowsiness gets a hold of him soon and falls into a light sleep.

*

The words in German that wake him up are concerned. Someone lightly shakes him and McCree opens his eyes to find a blonde woman looming over him. She says something else in German, until he finally recognizes his own name.

“McCree? Thank God,” she says and McCree blinks. “How are you feeling?”

_Like shit_ , he wants to answer but he senses Jesse McCree has said something like that to her before. Instead, he replies: “Not bad. Mei’s painkillers do work.”

The blonde woman smiles. In her hand, there’s a big staff radiating a golden beam from the end. His eyes search for the two brothers, who are nowhere to be seen, and a part of him actually feels bad that Hanzo isn’t there. The woman doesn’t seem to notice his sudden anxiety and helps him sit.

“Right, I don’t think you remember me, but I’m Mercy,” she says in a sweet voice. “I’m a doctor. Mei called me to help you with your injuries.”

“Yeah…” McCree doesn’t know what else to say, so he just nods. Mercy brings her staff closer to him and the golden beam connects to his body.

Instantly, all of the pain and discomfort he previously felt, disappear. “My Caduceus staff will help to heal the broken bones. Stay like this for fifteen minutes and you’ll feel better,” she explains. “Now, where did Hanzo go…”

To answer her own question, the kitchen door opens and four people emerge. The two brothers, Mei, and a short-haired woman with the same strange tattoo as Shrike. They all look at McCree, glowing on the couch, but no one says anything.

“Ah, there you are!” Mercy is the one to break the silence. “I need to disinfect your wound, Hanzo.”

Hanzo, funnily enough, makes a noise like a kid getting caught stealing cookies from the cookie jar, between indignant and surprised. McCree instantly whips his head in his direction, but Hanzo avoids his stare.

“It is nothing,” Hanzo huffs.

Mercy does not need to repeat herself, only staring at Hanzo intensely. The man eventually gives up with a groan not ten seconds later and drags the same chair Genji was sitting to get closer to the doctor. She finally smiles and from her bag takes some bandages, cotton and a white bottle. Hanzo makes a face at the tools.

“Can you show me?” Mercy asks, soaking up a little portion of the cotton in the white bottle.

With another groan, Hanzo opens his kimono and ties the lower part so it won’t fall. McCree cannot take his eyes off of Hanzo’s skin. Now he can see the tattoo entirely, going down his left pectoral. He suddenly feels dizzy and he’s not really sure if it’s due to the Caduceus staff doing its wonders or Hanzo being half naked in the same room as him.

The woman with short hair approaches him and her eyes are full of… something McCree can’t pinpoint. Between concern, relief and nostalgia. His eyes are forceful peeled off of Hanzo when the woman speaks to him.

“McCree,” she says and, up close, she’s a lot more muscular than McCree initially thought. The same strange tattoo she shares with Shrike makes him realize the resemblance between the two. Much like Genji and Hanzo, this woman shares with Shrike the piercing eyes and the overwhelming aura of intelligence. They feel almost like… home. “I thought I would never see you again.”

McCree nods, feeling like an impostor in his own body. The woman wipes a silent tear from her right eye and smiles. “You can call me Pharah. I’m Shrike’s daughter.”

“I… Okay, Pharah,” McCree replies. “I met your mother already, then.”

“Yeah, she told me you chose a ridiculous alias,” she replies and that actually makes McCree smile. “What was it? ‘Deadeye’? I thought you’d continue with the cowboy thing…”

“Hey!” McCree huffs, faking indignation. “It’s a cool name.”

“Sure, keep telling yourself that,” Pharah snorts and McCree laughs softly. The banter is so natural and casual, as if they have been doing it for years. _Probably_ , thinks McCree, _this isn’t the first time_.

McCree catches the stare of Hanzo, just a glimpse of it, because Hanzo, as soon as he knows himself uncovered, turns around and decides that the wall is more interesting. McCree is too late to be able to read his expression and his laughter dies.

“Are you guys staying the night?” Mei asks and Mercy and Pharah exchange understanding looks with the two brothers.

“Can we?” says Genji. “I think it would be a lot safer to have us all here in case Talon decides to show up again. Hanzo and I are almost out of ammunition and we can’t summon our dragons. We won’t be able to protect McCree a second time.”

“Mercy has her Caduceus staff and I brought my suit,” Pharah replies. “I do not think Talon will show up again… today. But we might run into trouble on the way to my mom’s place.”

“Zarya will come in the afternoon. I’ll ask her to accompany us,” says Mei. “I have my guest room free and a pair of futons, but I’m afraid someone will have to sleep on the couch.”

Everyone falls silent, until Genji sighs. “Hanzo and McCree are injured, they should have the guest room.”

McCree turns to look at Hanzo, who opens his mouth to protest, but is quickly shut down by Mercy. "We have no problem sleeping on the futons, although you’ll have to sleep on the couch, Genji.”

Genji snorts. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“I’ll bring the futons out,” says Mei disappearing into her room.

McCree doesn’t have to be a genius to see how upset Hanzo is by his brother’s decision, and something painful fills his heart. Hanzo’s rejection is clear and McCree does not know how to feel. If the craving in his heart and the foreign anxiety on his gut are wrong, then fuck him, because every time he looks at Hanzo, every time he silently pleads for another glance, for another word, are almost torture.

Ever since that time he heard his voice for the first time, McCree can’t seem to stop yearning for _something_ more.

Hanzo speaks in Japanese to his brother, frowning, and his words sound awfully harsh. But Genji is unaffected, replying back with calmer words. Hanzo grunts, clearly mad, and gets up, blurting out in Japanese to Genji, to which the other man doesn’t reply. Hanzo finally turns back, walks to the guest room and slams the door.

McCree looks at Genji, anxious and confused by Hanzo’s behavior, but Genji also avoids him, going after his brother.

_“I saw the way you were looking at him.”_

_“You did?”_

_His friend laughed._

_“And I saw the way he looked at you.”_

Mercy places a hand on his shoulder, snapping him out of his trance. “I disconnected the Caduceus staff. How are you feeling?”

“I, huh…” McCree tries to move around, expecting the sharp pain on his ribs and obtaining nothing. Mercy smiles and touches softly his left side. “I actually feel fine.”

“The Caduceus staff put the bones in place but it still isn’t healed completely. I would recommend you to not move around too much and rest so the bones can mend with the nano bots.”

McCree nods. Mei comes out with two futons, pillows, sheets and blankets. They make space in the living room to put the two futons together and Mei turns her heater on.

“The temperature is going to drop and it’s going to be cloudy in the morning,” explains Mei. “It’s going to be really cold outside.”

*

When McCree enters the room, he finds that Hanzo is in bed already, on the left side, still avoiding him with his back turned to him.

McCree sighs, half hoping Hanzo would turn around and look at him. But he does not and McCree feels like he’s going to die if Hanzo continues treating him like the plague.

He wants to say something, anything, but nothing comes out of his mouth.

_Jesse took his guitar and cleared his voice._

_“My_ mamá _used to sing this song to me when I was a kid,” explained Jesse. “It’s not really a lullaby, y’know? This is the kind of song you sing when someone dies.”_

_“Why did she sing it to you?” asked the only person in the room, his lonely audience._

_“I don’t know. I ran away from home when I was twelve. I don’t remember the face of my mother or my siblings, but I do remember this song. Maybe it was the last and only gift she gave to me.”_

_His audience hummed. Still in the darkness, Jesse cleared his voice again and started singing._

_“_ Dos besos llevo en el alma, llorona, que no se apartan de mí _,_ _” Jesse sang and exposed his own very soul to the lonely man hidden in the darkness, because he knew him and he loved him. So by giving him his song, the song of his childhood, his only memory, he would have given out everything he had to give._ _“_ El último de mi madre, ay llorona, y el primero que te di…[1] _”_

*

McCree wakes up to an empty bed.

Unconsciously, he searches for another body on the same bed and only finds cold sheets. He sits on the bed, trying to arrange his thoughts.

_Where is Hanzo?_

McCree looks at the clock on the wall. Past midday. The curtains are closed, but as Mei said, the cloudy sky doesn’t let any ray of sunlight filter through the smallest crack between the curtains. McCree takes his clothes from the floor and dresses in silence.

When he goes outside, he finds no one but a cup of coffee still hot on the table and a plate of French toasts. McCree takes a sit and starts eating, almost reluctantly. Light steps can be heard behind him, so he turns around and sees Genji holding a bright pink mug.

“Where’s everyone?” McCree asks.

“Mercy and Pharah went for Mercy’s Valkyrie suit, Mei and Zarya went to get more food and Hanzo went for more arrows and shuriken for me,” says Genji and smiles. “It’s just you and me now.”

McCree hums and turns around to keep eating his breakfast. Genji drags a chair to sit next to him and puts his mug on the table.

“I wanted to apologize for Hanzo’s behavior…” Genji begins. “And mine too. I wish I could explain it to you, but... We…”

“And why didn’t he come to apologize himself?” says McCree, his voice sounding a lot harsher than intended. “He’s clearly avoidin’ me, I’m not an idiot.”

“I…” Genji stops and idly moves the liquid inside of his mug. McCree waits for him. “Hanzo has never been good with speaking about his emotions. When he shuts down, it’s really hard to get him out of his shell again. He was a naturally introverted child, but, huh, circumstances made him this way. He still doesn’t know how to properly handle a lot of situations, but he tries.”

“So, you’re sayin’ your brother is an asshole because…?” McCree raises and eyebrow and Genji sighs.

“Because he’s having a rough time and he doesn’t deal well with this… situation,” Genji answers. “I hate to keep this from you, but we can only wait for Shrike to help you regain your memories.”

“And what are Jesse McCree’s memories gonna fix? If your brother doesn’t like me now, I doubt he will like me when I’m entirely ‘me’,” McCree says and laughs dryly, completely devoid of humor.

A sad look crosses Genji’s face but quickly erases it. McCree pretends as if he hadn’t seen it.

“And, anyways,” starts Genji, changing the subject and smiling. “It’s the duty of the most functional brother to be an apologist of the other.”

McCree snorts.

“You’re a Hanzo apologist?”

“Yeah,” Genji laughs loudly. “He would be a really sad man without me.”

*

Everyone comes back after four hours. Mei and Zarya, an impressive woman who could easily crush McCree’s head with the swing of her arm, return first, carrying plastic bags with food already made. Mercy and Pharah return in second, both of them wearing their combat suits. And Hanzo returns last, his quiver full and the shuriken for Genji on a paper bag.

As usual, Hanzo avoids his stare, going directly to the bathroom to take a shower. McCree sighs and Genji gives him an apologetic look.

Mei and Zarya are laughing in the kitchen, while Mercy and Pharah are busy occupying the entire living room to make the final adjustments to their suits. Mercy, after a while, hands him clean clothes, similar to the ones he’s wearing. A flannel shirt, jeans and clean underwear. Genji takes the shuriken from the paper bag and inspects them, humming to himself while doing so.

Mei comes out of the kitchen fifteen minutes later, carrying trays of food and plastic containers. Behind her, Zarya brings with her cutlery and napkins.

“Let’s eat,” says Mei, leaving the food on the table. Everyone turns their heads to her and she smiles. “We still have one hour until the sunset.”

.

Hanzo joins them only until all of them are finished. He whispers to his brother, in Japanese, and Genji nods, giving Hanzo the portion he kept for him.

“We should move as soon as the night comes,” says Pharah. “It’ll be difficult for the police to track Mercy and I in our suits.”

“Agreed,” seconds Genji. “Pharah and Mercy can watch the perimeter and Hanzo can act as a support in case Widowmaker appears. Zarya, Mei and I protect McCree on the ground.”

“I already called Shrike,” speaks Hanzo. “She is prepared. Tracer and Winston are with her.”

McCree looks at Hanzo, but only finds the usual scowl on his face. _So this is it. This is where Deadeye dies._ He then looks at everyone on the table, but can’t find any coherent words. What should he say?

_I’m glad that you’ll get your friend back?_

At his side, Genji touches his shoulder. “We should get going. The sun disappeared already.”

*

Zarya, the impressive woman with even more impressive muscles, is the first one to step outside. Her massive cannon does look like a lethal weapon in her hands, even though Mei explained to him earlier that her role on the team is more of a protector than of an attacker.

Then, Pharah takes flight on her suit from the roof of the building. McCree whistles, trying to search for her in the night sky, but finding nothing until Mercy also takes flight to reach for her. The two of them disappear into the darkness.

After them, Hanzo also steps outside, jumping from the edge of the roof –an increasing McCree’s heart rate in the process— to the rooftop of the neighbor building. McCree is looking at him and he’s sure Hanzo is looking back, standing above. The archer gives him a last glance, one McCree doesn’t know how to interpret, and then he also disappears into the night, the golden ribbon fluttering behind him.

Genji and Mei are behind him when he steps outside. The cold air makes him bury his nose in his own serape. Zarya gets in front of him and Mei gives him a small comm, the size of a pea. “Put it in your ear. Shrike’s place is on the other side of the city, not too far away from here, but I have the feeling this is going to be a long, long night.”

McCree does as he is told. Immediately, a feminine voice greets him: “Agent McCree, online. Number 130000. The voice channel is open.”

They start walking towards the main avenue, oddly devoid of people and cars. Genji fidgets behind him. “How are things looking up there, Pharah?” he asks.

There is static on the background, but Pharah finally answers: “There is no one on the streets. Not a single omnic or human. I saw a police car pass earlier and that was all.”

“There is no movement on the roofs either,” says Hanzo and McCree actually flinches from hearing his voice too close. He clutches to Peacekeeper on his right hand. “The omnics of the police that are usually here are off. This city is dead.”

Genji clicks his tongue. “I have a bad feeling about this. Stay alert and report anything strange you see. Hanzo, shoot a sonic arrow every one hundred meters.”

“Roger that,” Hanzo replies.

From above, Hanzo shoots an arrow to the ground. Blue waves reveal nothing ahead of them. Shivers invade McCree and anxiety grows on the bottom of his gut. Anxiety, anticipation and a feel he knows way too well.

Genji gently pushes Zarya, Mei and him to the safeness of the dark street. They walk in a straight line almost hidden. Mei whispers something in Chinese and Zarya replies in Russian, making her snicker.

Suddenly, one by one, the streetlights die. Zarya, in front of him, abruptly stops and Genji yells through the comm: “Hanzo! Pharah!” He jumps to McCree’s left side while Mei does the same on his right side.

McCree can hear the light tapping of Hanzo’s footsteps amidst the silence. His voice comes steady but unable to hide his own panic.

“Electricity is down! I cannot provide you cover right now!”

“We have company!” yells Pharah and Mercy says something so quickly that nobody is able to understand her. “They’re approaching north! I’ll try to buy you all some time. Go east and meet on the seventh street!”

“Hanzo, meet us at the seventh street!” Genji repeats. Hanzo yells back in Japanese, his words almost in a gasp. Genji replies and then hurries them to cross the street.

However, by the time they cross the street, the sound of a rocket exploding not too far away from them makes them stop. All of them look above and a blue bright stream crosses the sky in a flash.

“That’s Pharah and Mercy. We need to hurry,” mutters Genji. They start running east, crossing dark streets and unusual wet pavement.

More explosions can be heard. And then, gunshots. “It’s Talon!” says Pharah.

“Sniper!” yells Hanzo almost simultaneously. “West side, on the market’s building. Be careful, I will try to take them down!”

McCree clutches to Peacekeeper and his only three bullets. “Contact Shrike!” whispers Genji to Mei. “Tell her to send Tracer.”

Mei nods and takes out her phone to type some kind of code. Her fingers hurriedly cross the screen, the bright light getting him temporarily blind. “Done! She said Tracer will be here in less than fifteen minutes!”

Genji grunts. “Guys!” says Pharah suddenly. “They’re approaching you! Left side, two blocks ahead!”

“Prepare for combat,” hisses Genji. Mei takes out her blaster and Zarya points her cannon at the dark street. “McCree, stay close to Zarya!”

And just as Genji says those words, a rumble can be heard on the entire street, sending chills down McCree’s spine.

He knows now.

It’s anxiety, anticipation and the well-known feeling of the adrenaline pumping through his veins. Jesse McCree has experienced this before and Deadeye is not afraid, but only because he has nothing to lose. But Jesse McCree? He has everything on the line, in a sick game of fate and luck with the devil.

And said devil appears covered in black smoke at the end of the street. Barely visible, a hollow laughter resounds and echoes, and McCree takes an aim.

“Make every bullet count, cowboy!” Reaper laughs before dissolving again into black smoke and disappearing.

At his side, Genji jumps and dashes through the multiple agents of Talon. He sees the glimmer of the edge of his sword against the limited light the moon provides.

“Widowmaker escaped!” shouts Hanzo. “I cannot follow! I am coming to your position!”

“I’ll keep these other Talon agents entertained,” huffs Pharah. “I’ll get close if Mercy is needed.”

Zarya projects a barrier on Genji, who dashes again on the Talon agents. Mei closes the path with a giant ice wall and freezes the pavement to make an unstable footpath.

“Where are you looking, cowboy? I’m right here,” a voice says and McCree collapses on the ground, hard. Zarya withstands the hit, projecting a barrier on McCree in time.

The black smoke materializes once again and the white mask looks eerie in the dark. Two shotguns are aimed at his head, but McCree whips Peacekeeper out and aims too.

“I taught you everything you know,” says Reaper. “I know everything about you.”

“Not quite,” replies McCree in a gasp. Zarya shoots her cannon at the figure but the Reaper dissolves again, avoiding any damage. The Reaper, then, aims one shotgun at Zarya and shoots, the pellets hitting everywhere and sending her tumbling back.

“This is a private matter,” says the Reaper. “Stay out.”

The Reaper takes another step towards him. McCree still has Peacekeeper aimed at the mask but can’t find a good angle to shoot. Mei then, interferes with a yelp and places an ice wall between him and the Reaper.

“I said that this is a private matter,” the dark voice of the Reaper emerges once more, now clearly mad. “Stay out!”

The ice wall breaks and Mei yells in surprise. The ground shakes and then it breaks. “They are all yours, Doomfist,” says Reaper and the ground shakes again in reply, a deep voice speaking from behind him.

“Widowmaker is keeping the archer busy and Sombra is having a bit of fun with Shrike’s daughter,” McCree dares to look back, only to find a big man with his gauntlet embed into the frozen pavement. He cannot see his factions but the name is fairly familiar. “Settle your matters and take Deadeye back with Talon.”

“I’m on it,” replies the Reaper. The two shotguns are aimed at his head again, but McCree lets his most basic instincts to take over his body. He rolls on the ground and regains his composure, now aiming at the Reaper.

The Reaper grunts and shoots. McCree rolls again, avoiding at time the pellets that crash into the wall.

“You’re a murderer, McCree!” he shoots again and McCree takes cover behind a parked car. The windows explode and the metal is crushed. He winces. “Do you want to know who Jesse McCree is? I bet you don’t, because knowing yourself means acknowledging your own actions, and you’ve done very bad things…”

The Reaper shoots at the car, making it shake. McCree rolls again, avoiding the shower of deadly pellets against him. He presses his back against the cold wall and stares at the white mask coming in his direction.

He takes aim with Peacekeeper. “You have no bullets, cowboy!” taunts the shadowy figure, but McCree doesn’t shoot at him. He aims at the fuel of the car spilling on the pavement.

The bullet connects and in an instant, the street is lighted by a great explosion and fire. The Reaper shrieks, dissolving into black smoke to avoid the flames and effectively getting himself away from McCree.

However, McCree’s cover wasn’t as good as he though and the explosion launches him against the wall to finally hit the pavement. On the comm, he can hear the worried voices of everyone but he can’t seem to stop the ringing in his eardrums.

Two bullets left.

He crawls to the end of the alleyway he ended up and makes a mental list of what is hurting. He has a big cut on his forehead, judging by the blood dripping down his face. His ribcage hurts, but nothing seems to be broken. Legs and arms are fine. His nose is bleeding but it doesn’t seem to be broken either. His head is spinning and he feels dizzy, but he trust that the kick of adrenaline will keep him going just fine.

He supports himself on his arms to sit and speaks to the comm. “The Reaper is on me. I bought myself some time, but I’m pretty sure he’s goin’ to be back.”

“Did you cause the explosion?” asks Genji, gasping.

McCree smiles, slightly proud of it. “Yeah, that was good ol’ me.”

“Are you injured?” asks Mercy.

“I’ll survive,” replies McCree. “Can I get some cover to get out of here?”

“Where are you?” speaks Hanzo and, oddly enough, that soothes his racing heart. He smiles like an idiot to the thought of Hanzo racing to protect him.

“Fifteen meters away from the explosion. On an alleyway,” informs McCree and slumps his head against the wall.

“I am on my way. Stay there,” finally replies Hanzo and cuts communication.

McCree breathes slowly, trying to control his own dizziness. And then, he gradually gets up, regaining his own balance and feeling his legs unhurriedly responding to him. He knows this isn’t the first time this body has experienced an explosion this up close. McCree huffs when he’s finally standing.

And then, a person drops from one of the nearby rooftops of the alleyway.

And he knows.

Hanzo has his bow on one hand. His kimono is open on the left side, revealing the dragon tattoo, faintly glowing blue in the darkness. Much like the first time, McCree only wants to be held by his arms.

“Howdy,” he says with a smile, forgetting that Hanzo gave him the cold shoulder in the recent hours.

Hanzo looks at him. “You are bleeding.”

“Yeah, couldn’t help it,” McCree whipes the blood on his face with his serape. “I know I’ve had it worse.”

The archer huffs and turns around, shooting a sonic arrow to the opposing building.

“You should stop justifying your injuries with an ‘I’ve had it worse’,” Hanzo says. McCree gets close enough to feel the golden ribbon hitting his neck.

“Sorry, but at this point I think I’m not goin’ to die that easily,” McCree feels a stupid grin creeping in his face. Thankfully, Hanzo is still looking at the street and not at him.

The blue waves from the sonic arrow reveal nothing and Hanzo steps outside of the alley. “This zone is clear, we should regroup with the others…”

“Hanzo! McCree!” Genji shouts suddenly and McCree’s ears ring again. “Sniper, two blocks away from you. Step out of the light!”

“What? I drove Widowmaker out of the perimeter! It should be safe!”

“On your left!”

Everything happens so fast neither of them can react. McCree sees the glint of the telescopic sight on the rooftop of a nearby building and draws Peacekeeper. He shoots at the same time as the sniper shoots.

He knows he hit the target because the telescopic sight disappears and the rifle falls from the building.

But it’s too late. He’s been hit too.

McCree doesn’t feel pain when he falls into the arms he craved for so long.

**Author's Note:**

> [1] this is a fairly known Mexican song, my favorite version is sung by Chavela Vargas: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XCUddHPYvCY  
> [2] my friend suggested that Hanzo sang to catchy 80's Japanese pop songs and I'm here to deliver: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3bNITQR4Uso  
> Follow me on Twitter: @ImNotMurakami for more mchanzo screaming


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